


A Difference Of Two

by helens78



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Bruises, Community: kink_bingo, Denial, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Violence, Roughhousing, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of the Leobens challenges Anders to a one-on-one game of Pyramid, Anders takes him up on it.  But Pyramid's a contact sport, and bruises aren't the only marks Leoben's leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Difference Of Two

**Author's Note:**

> For my kink bingo card! Thanks to Ruth and Travis for the beta help. :)
> 
> A note about Pyramid: [This is all we really know about the rules](http://en.battlestarwiki.org/wiki/Pyramid_%28RDM%29). Like any fictional game, it's tricky to get across in words; I hope the action makes sense even if you aren't familiar with the sport!
> 
> This takes place roughly between seasons 2 and 3 of BSG.

The Pyramid arena's deep in the heart of human territory, if anything can be said to be human territory these days. The toasters don't usually make it all the way down here, and if they do, they don't usually come alone.

There's a Leoben model who's been watching the pickup games lately, though. Anders wonders if it's the same one who came into their tent when the Cylons first landed, looking for Kara; he doesn't think so, but it's impossible to tell. He wonders if the models can tell themselves apart, sometimes, but he tends to push those sorts of thoughts aside as fast as possible. Start thinking of the toasters like they're individuals, like they're people, and they'll find a way to use it against you.

He thinks about Sharon for half a second and shakes the thought out of his head. The only reason he ever trusted Sharon was because there was no alternative. Anybody stupid enough to let their guard down around the Eights here will end up in the Detention Center--or worse. The difference between Eights means nothing, and one Leoben model is the same as any other.

Except this one's brave enough to put itself in the middle of a bunch of humans, alone, like there's a single human in all of New Caprica who wouldn't love to kick its ass. It's either brave, or it's stupid, or it's stacked the deck. Anders is betting on door number three. There are probably Centurions or skinjobs keeping an eye on it, just out of sight.

The pickup game's just breaking up; the few spectators have already gone back to their tents or their jobs. Leoben's presence on the bleachers makes everyone nervous--no one wants to stick around and find out what it wants.

No one except Anders, anyway. He grabs the ball out of the goal and stands still, hands on his hips, waiting for Leoben to decide it's seen enough or to do something other than just walk away, like it always has before.

This time Leoben walks onto the arena, right up to Anders. Anders doesn't let himself take a step back; he forces himself to meet Leoben's eyes.

They all look so human this close up. Skin, hair, muscle--all the things that would let them pass even a close examination by a doctor. Leoben has blue eyes, and its hair is blond but fading to grey at the temples. Anders wonders if the Cylon models age, if this Leoben was once in the human equivalent of his thirties, if the grey hair might be new.

It doesn't matter. He shouldn't be thinking about it. He slams the Pyramid ball into the ground and catches it when it comes back up. "You want something?"

Leoben tilts its head from one side to the other, looking Anders over very carefully, which gives Anders shivers all the way up and down his spine. There are times when the toasters look completely human, and then there are times like this, when Anders feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, like one of them's trying to study him.

The study gives way to a long, slow, head-to-foot once-over, and then Leoben licks his lips. No. No, licks _its_ lips, because Leoben isn't human, and this isn't a come-on, no matter what kind of signals Leoben might be giving off. Whatever this is, it's different.

"You got another round in you?"

Anders stares at it; he was expecting today to be different, but he wasn't expecting that. "You're joking."

"I've been watching you for a while now. I think I've got a handle on the rules."

"Really." Anders gives it an appraising look. Pyramid's a contact sport. Bones get broken even when people aren't trying to hurt each other. _You have to be frakking kidding me._

"One-on-one. You and me. You up for it?"

"You gonna send in the Centurions when I kick your ass?"

Leoben laughs, which is maybe even more creepy than the way it's been looking at Anders. It shakes its head. "Nah. Just want to see what it's like from the inside."

A jolt of revulsion shoots up Anders's spine, and he shakes his head, already clearing his way off the arena. "Frak that. I'm not your experiment."

"Quick game. Nine points. You sure you don't want a shot at me?"

Anders glances back over his shoulder; Leoben's still standing in the middle of the arena. It grins at him like it knows exactly why Anders is hesitating, and it spreads its arms wide.

"C'mon," Leoben says. "I don't have anybody watching my back. I'm not gonna hold it against you if I lose."

It looks so vulnerable out there like that, so alone, but it also looks completely confident. Back on Caprica, back before all this, guys from unbeaten teams used to come onto an arena and give Anders that kind of look. It was always psychological bullshit. Anders didn't fall for it then, and there's no way he's falling for it now. Anders grips the Pyramid ball hard in one hand and slams it against his other palm; he walks over to Leoben and gets right into its face, almost nose-to-nose with it. It doesn't back away.

"You're gonna lose this one," Anders promises quietly. "The real question is whether you're gonna hold it against me if I break something."

"It's always about violence with you people, isn't it?" Leoben shakes its head. "Even your recreational activities simulate combat. Neanderthals were more developed."

"And you want to know what it's like, don't you?" Anders can feel it breathing against his face; he's sure it can feel his breath, too. "You want to find out what the appeal is."

"Maybe. What do you say?"

It's just one Cylon. One out of hundreds of skin jobs, out of thousands of bulletheads. Anders stares it down, and it just grins at him. Maybe humans are animals after all, because the chance to put some hurt on Leoben--the Cylon model who came after Kara, the one who maybe took her into detention or killed her or Gods-know-what--it's damned appealing. Maybe this is that same Leoben; maybe the right hand doesn't even know what the left hand's doing. It doesn't matter. He still wants to see Leoben hurting.

"Get to your zone," Anders snaps, pointing at the left corner of the arena. He takes the right one and goes down into a crouch, ball on the ground; Leoben sets up across from him and holds position.

"Call it," Anders says.

"Go."

One-two-three, step-step-pivot-step, and Anders throws the ball at one of the walls. Leoben's already coming after him, barreling across the arena, but Anders grabs the ball out of midair, off its rebound, and he spins, heading the opposite direction. One-two-three, three fast steps, and he's letting loose, ball headed toward the goal, but he doesn't get to see if he makes it, because Leoben's tackling him. They both go down hard, Leoben on top of Anders, its body sharp and angular under its loose clothes--somehow Anders didn't expect that. It's never looked big, but Anders always assumed it packed some muscle. It feels like a wiry guy, someone who never bulks up no matter what he does to gain weight.

Anders picks himself up off the ground and doesn't offer the Cylon a hand up. The ball's in the goal return, and that makes it Leoben's turn. It grabs the ball and heads back to its starting zone.

"One to you," it says. "Call it."

"Go."

One, two--it's slower than Anders, doesn't know how to move its body across the arena the way Anders does. Anders crosses half the distance between them by the time Leoben can even pick out a wall to rebound off. Third step, and now it's got a wall in its sights, but Anders is almost there, and the ball's barely out of Leoben's hands before Anders has Leoben down, slamming his shoulder into the dead center of Leoben's chest.

Feels like flesh and bone, again, and the jar from the impact leaves Anders's arm numb most of the way to his elbow. It feels good, though--it feels frakking great, and seeing the Leoben model on the ground is even better.

The ball's rolling toward Leoben's starting zone, so Anders doesn't waste time savoring that little victory. He leaps for the ball, grabbing it and slamming it down into the painted-off section at the corner, a hands-off move that means Leoben has to take a step back and slow down. Not that Anders had to worry much; Leoben's still having trouble picking itself back up. It puts a hand to its chest and rubs, and it clears its throat as Anders gets back on his feet, ball still pressed to the corner zone.

"You ready to quit yet?" Anders asks.

"Not yet." It steps into the center, a legit starting spot if the defending team's taken possession and put the ball on the ground, so Anders gets ready to move. He does a head-fake that doesn't fool Leoben for a second, and then one-two-three, he's heading straight forward and banging the ball off the left-hand wall.

They're both going for the ball now, and they hit each other instead of either one of them managing to catch it. Anders curses and twists, elbow lashing out to get Leoben the frak away from him, but Leoben just grunts and drags Anders down to the ground. It's all fast enough to be fair, quick enough that even a regulation game wouldn't have gotten a whistle yet, but it ends with Anders flat on his face and Leoben on top of his back, and for a split-second it's just warm, solid body heat and another human body on top of his, sweat-smell and rasping breath and everything.

But that second passes in less than the space of two heartbeats as Leoben rolls off him, and then they're both scrambling for the ball again, racing to see who gets to it first. It's Anders, who takes his three fast steps and then lobs the ball into the goal a second time. It rattles down the back cage to the return, and Leoben picks it up.

"Two to you."

Anders backs up into his corner and rests his hands on his knees, breathing hard. "Still think you can get to nine?"

"Do you?"

"Come on."

Leoben actually grins this time, and it's faster out of the starting zone than it was on its last possession. It takes three steps, facing a wall to rebound, but Anders can see which one it's going for and moves to the wall to intercept. The rebound comes back hard, and they both go after it, Leoben's arm coming around in front of Anders as Anders catches the ball and twists down and forward. But Leoben comes along with him, and they're both spinning, rolling together on the arena, Anders's shoulders knocking back against Leoben's chest, all tangled up with each other.

Physically, there's no difference between Leoben and any other human, any other opponent that's body-checked Anders into the ground. Anders shifts to get away, but the movement rubs his thigh against Leoben's groin, and _frak_\--not only is Leoben anatomically correct, he's frakking _hard_.

Not so unusual in these games, especially pick-up games that go one-on-one, especially pick-up games that start with someone looking at Anders the way Leoben did when he--when it, _it_, first asked about a game. Anders flashes back to that little swipe of tongue and jabs his elbow backward, catching Leoben in the gut. Leoben grunts, and Anders rolls away.

He's still got the ball, and he takes his three steps and lands it in the goal. "Three," he says, glaring at Leoben.

Leoben's still on its back, and it gives Anders a tiny hint of a smile. "Two, actually. D'Anna is model number three."

It reaches out, and Anders stares down at it for a few seconds. Any other opponent, he'd take that hand and help the other person up. But Leoben's not just any other opponent, like he just went to the trouble of mentioning.

Anders finally walks back over and takes Leoben's hand. "Quit frakking with me."

But Leoben just levers itself up, squeezing Anders's hand once it's on its feet. It shrugs. "I thought you might want to know."

"Why would I give a frak?"

It looks Anders up and down again--another one of those slow once-overs. Anders grits his teeth as Leoben finally meets his eyes again. "Same reason I asked you to play instead of somebody else."

While Leoben gathers up the ball, Anders gets back in his starting zone, trying to think of something to say to that, anything. "You're wrong about that."

Leoben grins as it goes back to its own starting zone. "Yeah?"

"You're wrong about me."

"You sure?"

Anders thinks about saying _frak you_, but there's no point, not really. "Go."

Leoben's faster off the mark this time than he's been yet. It's either getting the hang of the game, or it's been frakking with Anders this whole time, holding back so it could see what Anders was made of in a one-on-one situation. It slams the ball into the wall furthest from Anders and manages to catch the rebound before Anders can close in. But this time Anders isn't even going for the ball; he tackles Leoben head-on, knocking him--_it_\--down and feeling the impact all over his body. Leoben cries out, hurting, but no one's coming--no Centurions making those metallic hums, no gang of skinjobs coming to stop this--and Anders rolls hard, elbows and knees driving into soft, vulnerable, _human_ flesh. Leoben grunts at that, too, and Anders grabs for the ball, sliding away before Leoben can get to him.

It's the dirtiest Anders has ever played, and it's satisfying as all hell. Anders takes one step, two, and then he's hitting the ground hard, Leoben all over him, Leoben's cock grinding into his ass. He's pinned too hard to swing an arm or an elbow back, but Leoben's not staying; it gets back on its feet and grabs the ball, and one, two, three steps later it's slamming the ball into the goal. Three to one. A difference of two.

Anders stays on the ground, letting his forehead drop to the arena floor. He knows it's not real, he _knows_ Leoben's not human, but his body's reacting to being tackled down, reacting to those once-overs and Leoben saying _Same reason I asked you to play instead of somebody else._

He shouldn't really expect his body to be immune to all that; it's been weeks since he's had any kind of closeness with another person, or sex with anything other than his own hand. But Leoben's not a person. It's a machine, a Cylon, and Anders is not going to peel himself off the arena floor just so Leoben can look down its nose at him and say Anders's body is proving it right about humans and violence.

Leoben walks over to Anders and stops, its boots just in front of Anders's face. "You all right?" it asks.

"I'm fine." Gods, if this frakking toaster would just leave him alone...

It doesn't, though. It squats down, reaching out to squeeze Anders's shoulder. "You hurt?"

Oh, yeah, he's hurting. Even Leoben's supposedly-concerned touch hurts; Anders still has aches from the last game, let alone this one. Leoben's probably left bruises all over Anders over the course of their pickup game; Anders has sure as frak been trying to leave some bruises of his own.

Leoben squeezes again, and the ache makes Anders's breath stutter and his cock jerk. He tries to shrug Leoben's hand off, but Leoben doesn't budge. "It's nothing."

"You need help?"

That's too much; Anders pulls away and comes up on his knees, to hell with whether he's still hard or if Leoben can see it. "What the frak do you care?"

Leoben just stays there in its squat, looking Anders over carefully, taking everything in. It sighs and looks down at the ground.

"God cares about everyone," Leoben says softly. It looks back up at Anders. "You think I shouldn't?"

"I think I've had enough," Anders growls, and he shoves himself up to his feet. He grabs the ball out of the goal and walks off the arena, not looking back, and as he rounds the corner, he ends up slamming right into another guy, just about knocking him over. He gets an arm around the other guy's waist, steadies them both while the other guy grabs at Anders's arms and catches his balance.

And Anders freezes solid in shock when he realizes he's looking right at another Leoben.

He tries to let go, but Leoben still has a grip on Anders's arms; one of Anders's arms is still wrapped around Leoben's waist. He drops the Pyramid ball, but that doesn't really help, since Leoben's holding onto that arm anyway. Leoben's looking at Anders like he recognizes him (_it_, like _it_ recognizes him), and Anders can feel his body reacting to Leoben all over again, his cock getting harder and harder against Leoben's thigh.

Leoben's hands are starting to move on Anders's arms, starting to squeeze and caress, and Anders tries harder to get away. Leoben's following the movement, though, and it--he--_damn it_. Leoben moves his hand from Anders's arm to the back of his neck, and he kisses Anders, teeth cutting into Anders's lip before their mouths line up and Leoben can push his tongue into Anders's mouth.

Anders struggles, but Leoben's holding on too tightly for him to go anywhere. Leoben strokes his thumb down Anders's cheek, and Anders groans out loud; for one second, for one long second, it's exactly like being held by another man.

He shoves hard at Leoben, and Leoben stumbles back a couple of steps. Anders throws a wild punch, which somehow manages to connect; it catches Leoben on the cheek, turning Leoben's head to the side.

Anders is going to feel that in his hand for days, but he doesn't give a damn; it felt good, it felt _so_ frakking good--

Someone does jump him, then, from behind, catching both his arms. Anders fights, but as he struggles, he realizes who's holding on to him--it's the Leoben from the Pyramid game.

"Hey. _Hey._ Stop that," the Pyramid Leoben hisses. "Calm down and let him go. It's not his fault." He looks up at the other Leoben model. "Get out of here."

The other Leoben doesn't even hesitate; he turns on his heel and leaves, and a few seconds later Anders can't even hear his footfalls. He relaxes some, enough that Leoben lets him go, but Anders just sags back against Leoben's chest, all the adrenaline leaving him shaky.

Leoben puts his hand on Anders's side, right over one of the bruises from their game, and he squeezes lightly. Anders swallows hard, eyes slipping closed. "Stop it," he murmurs.

"This is why it had to be you," Leoben says softly. He hasn't let go of the bruise, and Anders shivers, feeling the pain twisting inside him, feeling it twist into something shameful and dark that's keeping his cock hard and his body searching for more contact with Leoben's. "It's better for you when it hurts, isn't it? The game. Life. Love and hate. You need them all to hurt."

"You don't know me." Anders takes a slow, shaking breath. "And you don't know the first frakking thing about being human."

"I know what it is to be God's chosen. Can you say that?"

Anders finally convinces his body to pull away. "I don't need your God, and I sure as frak don't need you."

"You're wrong," Leoben says, but it's too late; Anders is walking away as fast as he dares, as fast as he can without having to worry about running into another Leoben on his way home.

_-end-_


End file.
